


Whom the Gods Love

by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Ending, Angst, Christmas fic, Gen, Memory Magic, keep a box of tissues handy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit/pseuds/allthegoodnamesaretakendammit
Summary: His life begins with a flash of light, a ringing emptiness rippling through his skull.





	Whom the Gods Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sourboy (jonashootme)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonashootme/gifts).



His life begins with a flash of light, a ringing emptiness rippling through his skull.  
  
There are piercing blue eyes very close to his own, gazing so intently at him, it's as if they can read his soul. Then those eyes fill with tears and the face pulls back, resolving itself into a wrinkled old man with a crooked nose and an incredible wealth of white hair. "It's gone," says that deep, ancient voice--seeming to come from the center of the earth itself. "All of it."  
  
And then the old man smiles tremulously, eyes spilling over from behind his half-moon spectacles. A weeping woman, stout and wreathed in bright red hair, places a steaming plate of chocolate biscuits on the table before turning away to mop up her face with her apron.  
  
“Thank you, Molly. These look delicious,” the old man says, not bothering to wipe his tears away. “Would you care for one, my boy?”  
  
He takes one and nibbles on it. It tastes even better than it looks. But as soon as it’s gone, his attention starts to wander to the house around him: a scrubbed wood table, a clock with seven hands on it, the whistling of a kettle in the next room. On the table in front of him, there is an odd assortment of objects: a stick of wood, a vial of shimmering white liquid, and a gold medallion in a velvet box. It is strung on a green ribbon and it is engraved in long, looping letters: _Order of Merlin - First Class._  
  
Something about looking at it makes him feel anxious, upset. So he looks at the rest of the room instead, noting a bit of holly tacked up around the window. Snow falling softly, silently outside.  
  
He has the sudden feeling that he’s asked these people for something terrible and tremendous, and that they’ve given it to him.  
  
“You look very at peace, if you don't mind my saying so,” the old man says—mournful, relieved, seeming to peer into his soul again.  
  
And into the hush he answers, “I think... I think I am.”  
  
The woman gives a gasping a sob into her apron, her shoulders heaving as the old man says, "Happy Christmas, Harry."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please send flowers to my beta, freakydeakymoonmagic. She always, always takes my calls. Brave woman.
> 
> "Whom the gods love dies young." - Menander


End file.
